


With friends like these

by iwantcandy2



Series: Rarepair Requests [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Caliborn's perspective, Domestic, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantcandy2/pseuds/iwantcandy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caliborn and Equius accidentally caused the apocalypse.</p><p>Whoops. Their bad.</p><p>Now no one is talking to them, and the are left to fend for themselves in the broken fragments of what used to be Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With friends like these

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jokess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jokess/gifts).



> For the prompt:  
> Scenario wise, apocalypse setting, either humanstuck or troll/cherub. It's some years after the end of the apocalypse and everyone left is trying to rebuild. Caliborn could be the one to have brought the apocalypse and Equius his trusty steed. Not literally of course! Like, they brought on the apocalypse by mistake and in a totally hilarious way and now have to survive together because everyone else left in the world hates them.
> 
> I had so much fun writing from Caliborn's perspective. He's pretty tricky, and I didn't nail him completely. However, I had a hoot writing it, and I hope you have a hoot and a half reading it.

The sun was like. An inflamed red eye. Glaring down from an ashen sky. Utterly disgusted with everything down below.

"Sir," my minion interrupts, "it may not be my place to say it, but I don't think this is wise."

"I am the one. Who does the thoughts," I reply. "Also. You did not use my proper title. That is one hundred penalty points."

He quivers, like something made of the delicious substance called Jell-o.

"Forgive me, Supreme Universal Cool Bro. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"No. Doubting me is an error. That usually results in bleeding. Now hurry up with the paint."

After dominating the universe, I thought it was only right I had a memorial constructed in my honor. And since powerful people never do their own work. And I am MOST POWERFUL OF ALL FOREVER, I commissioned. The blue sweaty one. To paint it for me. Not that I couldn't have done it myself. My art is top tier. However, my underling assured me his talents. Were impressive.

"It is done," he heaves, wiping his glistening brow.

He steps away to reveal the mural. It depicts my glorious visage. Astride a flame-spewing horse.

"Yes. That is an accurate depiction of my musculature."

He blushes. Like a blueberry that has been stepped on.

“If it behooves you, we should leave before…anyone finds us.”

“I am not. Afraid of them,” I state. “I will crush all who challenge me.”

“Er, yes, but,” he threads his fingers and bashfully paws the ground. Like a shy schoolgirl. I mean. I didn’t think that. “Even so, it would be awkward. I, um, I think they would be mad at me.”

“For designing that brilliant doomsday device?”

“Yes. For that.”

I chuckle to myself. The doomsday device was. As the coolkids would say. A fucking doozy. I didn’t honestly think. It’s operating would be a thing that happened. I don’t think Equius did either. He looked quite surprised when the thing went off. And vaporized. Most of the shell around the earth. Like a boiled egg some idiot placed in the microwave. 

“Fine,” I reply. “We shall return to the fortress.”

He sighs in relief, inclining his head. I am a magnanimous god. Also. According to the mural. I have at least a ten-pack.  
We navigate down the broken earth. The ground no longer lies flat. It is like a blanket that has been crumpled. If that blanket were made of granite and concrete.

“I think this place. Used to be a park,” I note, pointing to the twisted form of a jungle gym. “Or a schoolhouse.”

It makes me laugh. Because a schoolhouse. Is usually filled with small children. Instead of silence and decay. It is a reversal on what is expected.

Irony. I am the master of it.

The minion does not share my taste for irony. He stands in silence. Sweat pooling off him like condensation on a frosty beverage. I forgive him for not laughing along. Not everyone is a master of. The subtle arts. It takes a refined palette.

We return to our lair. My lair. It is. A work in progress. When the dust has settled. Literally. I will have a proper citadel built. Befitting a supreme ruler. My likeness will be carved in diamonds. And placed on the highest tower.

“Sir?” pipes my trusted acolyte. He is doing the finger thing. Like a coquettish anime girl. Where he taps his index fingers together. And looks at the ground. All shyly.

“Sir?” he asks again. I had forgotten to answer. Because I was staring at his statuesque face.

“What?” I snap. In perfect control of my emotions.

“I would like to ask permission for a leave of absence. I- I want to search for my moirail. I am worried about her. I haven’t seen he-”

“She’s dead.”

He is silent. I do not mind. The silence. Others’ voices are not something I am familiar with. But I think there is a texture to this silence. That is like a slug underfoot. Unpleasant. And damp.

I turn to continue into the ramshackles. Of my bourgeoisie underground lair. Like all cowards. He waits until my back is turned. To make his move.

“With all due respect, her death would not change the fact that I need to find her. I need to be sure. If there is a chance I can save her-”

“Forget the bitch!”

I cannot tell if he is quivering in fear. Or trembling with rage. When he speaks. His voice is quiet. Betraying neither.

“I have to go now,” he says. Slowly. As if he is afraid I will not understand. “I will come back. You have my word of honor.”

He turns. His hair sweeps behind in a sable arc. Like in a shitty drama. When the love interest bids a tearful goodbye.

That’s what this is. I am the down-trodden but relatable protagonist. Left alone at the altar of love. The only crack in my stoicism. A single manly tear.

“Go fuck yourself!” I yell after him. “If I see you again. I will viscerally tear your reproductive organs from your man-womb. And force you to wear them. As headwear.”

He doesn’t even stumble at the lewd imagery. Instead he disappears into the post-apocalyptic sunset. His own stallion and lone ranger both.

Someone must be punished for this betrayal. But no one is around. No one is always around. You would think dominating the world. Would change things. But it is still me and an empty cave. On a shitty planet. 

I tear at the rock with my claws. The sound reminds me. There were bugs on this planet. For a little while after I took over. But then they all died from the atmosphere pollution. Wimps. 

After a while my fingers hurt. Also they are bloody. It is distracting. I decide to channel my rage. Into art. 

But art can only do so much. It cannot. For example. Provide food after three days. Of an anger-induced artistic binge.  
Much to my chagrin. I have to venture outdoors in search of food. This debasement was caused by the abandonment of my once-trusted minion. The betrayal still stings. However. I am a capable conqueror. I need no blustering troll and his deceptive assistance. No matter how awkwardly endearing I found him to be.

The world is uncooperative. I find no sustenance amid the rubble of this broken society. Not even a solitary pack of Jujubes. I begin to wonder how Equius had always come back. With an abundance of food. However. If someone as REPULSIVE and UNRELIABLE as he could find food. So can I.

I search until the sun begins to set. Even three weeks later the atmosphere is still choked with soil. It makes the light red. Everything looks like a guttering flame. Stupid. Dumb. Broken.

I make my way back to the lair. I wouldn’t say defeated. Because defeat is incompatible with someone as glorious as myself. But I was definitely. Grouchy.  
As I near the entrance. My keen nose picks up the scent of burning flesh. It smells. Delicious.

Inside the perpetual gloom and shadows of indoors. Equius stands over the fire pit. Roasting something over a spit.

“I was beginning to worry about you, sir,” he says. Groveling like the pathetic worm he is. Begging forgiveness and mercy. 

Normally I would strike swiftly. And sever his traitorous head. But the meat was sizzling. And it smelled sweet.

“I marinated it in syrup, your lordship,” he explains. “Just the way you like.”

“Well. I suppose. This time only. I shall forgive you.”

He bows his head. We sit on the broken floor. And he cuts the meat. He abstains from eating himself. I choose to belief it is self-inflicted punishment for his disobedience. Even though I know it has to do with that silly thing. Called being vegetarian.

I don’t ask about his moirail. I don’t care. All that matters is that he is here. With me. And not somewhere else. With someone else.

“Sir, pardon me if this is above my station, but I was thinking tomorrow we could begin cleaning up the debris outside. With some work, we could turn it into a proper lawnring.”

“I am the one who does the thinking. And that thing you said is also what I was thinking,” I explain. “Yes. Tomorrow. But you are doing all the hard labor yourself. As punishment.”

“Y-yes sir,” he simpers. Sweat shines in the firelight. “Anything you wish.”

“That is correct. Anything I wish.”

It is good. To be the king.

**Author's Note:**

> Gee, I WONDER who caught that meat for Equius? coughITWASNEPETAcough.
> 
> Toying with the idea of continuing this, but who knows?


End file.
